462 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June is, 1901. 
— « — 
On Reading **S&m Lovers Boy.^ 
So this is the last time? never more, hereafter. 
May we gather with them where the light leaps high; 
Harfc the cobbler's stories, echo the gay laughter, 
Prod the old man's memory tn his "Taking Ti." 
Never more the linter, of a night, shall hold us; 
Never shall wc wander forth with Drive and Sam. 
This is the last time Mrs. Purin'ton shall scold us; 
Antwine racks invention one more ''tcekly tam," 
Aye, here we part, for he, the dear magician, 
Waves his creatures from him, and goes on before, 
Leaving us he summoned to the fields Elysian, 
Gazing sadly after at the close-shut door. 
He has gone, and, henceforth, growing grass shall cover 
Half the broken hearthstone; birds in flight shall stop, 
Squirrels perch and chatter of their own true lover, 
Oa the drooping shutter of Uncle Lisha's shop, 
Ruth Hall. 
De Witt Clinton's Letters. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
A. N. Cheney's contribution on De Witt Clinton s let- 
ters about the National History and Internal Resources 
of the State of New York must have been read with deep 
interest by all your subscribers, and to one reader of 
Forest and Stream the article was specially attractive, 
for it served to remind me that I had the good luck, sev- 
eral years ago, to find a copy of the letters by "Hiber- 
nious" among a quantity of trash in an unpromising situ- 
ation, and since exchanging a nickel or two for the book, 
have never failed to pick it up without finding entertain- 
ment on every page. Since Mr. Cheney describes the 
volume as "very rare, " I am, perhaps, warranted in re- 
garding my copy as well worth preserving, for although 
it is bound' in the cheapest style, its pages are perfect. 
To a resident of this quarter of the State the letters 
are particularly interesting. Their author is regarded 
as the Father of the Erie Canal, but all through its pages 
he refers to the waterway as "The Western Canal." The 
first letter is dated "Montezuma, May 26, 1820," and_ in 
these days of enlarged-canal discussion, it is worth noting 
that Clinton describes the boat on which he traveled as 
74 feet long, 13 feet wide, "which draws^ when not loaded, 
7 inches of water, and when loaded, il." The canal 
itself was 40 feet in width at the surface: at the bottom 
■'28 feet, and its depth 4 feet. To quote every paragraph 
of interest would require more space than you might 
care to give, for the letters are written from the point 
of view of an enthusiast who now and then ventures on 
the domain of phophecy. For instance, anticipating one 
efifect of the canal, he says: "When the great six-horse 
heavy teams are banished from use, the roads will be 
improved. The tippling houses, which derive their prin- 
cipal support from teamsters, will fall into disuse." An- 
other prediction not yet fullfilled was this: "The opening 
of a market for grain will prevent its conversion into ardent 
spirits — the curse of morals, and the bane of domestic 
felicity. Whisky now sells for 18 cents a gallon. What 
a temptation to inebriety! A man may now keep con- 
stantly drunk for three or four shillings a week. Nothing 
but a heavy excise can banish the use of this deleterious 
poison." He discusses the geology of the canal country 
as it was known at that time, but admits "we are but in the 
horn book of this science." He was confident that coal 
would be found along the route of the canal, and his be- 
lief led to this reflection: "The moment coal is discov- 
ered within fifty miles of the canal, what sources of wealth 
will immediately be developed. Deprive Great Britain 
of its coal, and you ruin the kingdom. Give it to the 
proud republic of New York, and she will soar on eagle 
wings above all competition." In a letter dated Geneva, 
June, 1820, he laments that "natural science has no hold 
of the affections of this community," and in illuistration 
of the fact continues: "The common names of European 
birds are applied without discrimination to American 
ones, and this has created endless confusion. It is in 
vain that I look for our quail, our partridge, our wood-^ 
cock, our pigeon, our swallow, our robin, our goldfinch, 
etc. There is nothing of the kind to be seen. I am 
pointea to birds of those names, but here the resemblance 
ceases. The English snipe is the same in Europe and 
America, and probablv many aquatic birds, but that snipe 
is the only one in which I have ascertained a complete 
sameness." 
Here and there in the letters are allusions well calcu- 
lated to stir the blood of the reader who happens to have 
a weakness for the rod or gun. One paragraph says: 
"Along the canal I have been regaled with the salmon 
and pike in great perfection. The salmo fario, or common 
trout, is visible in various places in the canal," a_ state- 
ment from which one must infer that the water in the 
canal at that time must have been purer or the trout less 
particular than they are now. One of his observations 
I can testify to being well founded, viz.: "A species of 
crayfish, which I have not seen, is said to be peculiarly 
dangerous to mill dams by its perforations. It inhabits 
the Genesee River in abundance." Every boy who has 
ever fished in the Genesee River, and had his fingers 
seized by the claws of the "crab," knows how abundant 
they are and what an excellent bait they make for bass. 
,One letter dated Canandaigua, devoted to birds and the 
ornithologists, opens with this sentence: "At the house 
of the respectable and worthy Mr. Greig I met^ for the 
first time with the ornithology of Alexander Wilson, in 
nine quarto volumes, and need I say that I am delighted 
with it beyond measure?" _ Another letter begins with 
this picture to tease the wildfowler of the present day: 
"i saw, for the first time, in the Seneca River at Monte- 
zuma, the aquatic plant called wild rice or Folle avoine. 
It grows all over the West and North — and wherever it 
flourishes, mvriads of water fowls are attracted to it. and 
(leriv? thdr chief support and ejcquisitc- fiavor from its 
alimentary qualities. In the lakes and rivers adjoining 
Montezuma thousands of wild geese and ducks of all 
kinds congregate at the proper season for food, except 
the canvasback duck, or Anis vallisneria of Wilson, which 
derives its name from a water plant called Vallisneria, on 
the roots of which it feeds, and which is a fresh water 
vegetable, that grows in some parts of the Hudson and 
Delaware, and in most of the rivers that fall into the 
. Two letters dated "Western Region, August, 1820," 
are devoted to discussing the rattlesnake and its pecu- 
liarities. In early days the country about here was famous 
for the number of rattlesnakes that could be found by 
anyone who was looking for them. They are now about 
as rare as the dodo in this vicinity, but tliey have left 
their name on a point in the Genesee River below the 
city, and it will doubtless be called Rattlesnake Point 
ages hence, although the last of the reptiles was killed 
there many years ago. It is the only place of which I 
have any knowledge that one could identify with the spot 
alluded to in this passage of Clinton's: "A great den 
exists on the east side of Genesee River, near Rochester. 
In the spring they travel west (as their heads are then 
found in that direction), ten or twelve miles, and, scatter 
themselves over the lowlands; and for this purpose they 
swim across the river. In the autumn their heads are 
pointed to the east, as they return to their den." 
Apropos of the proposed introduction of moose into 
the Adirondacks, an extract from letter XLIV is sug- 
gestive: "On my way to the west I passed a few days 
at Albany, and among other public places visited the 
Museum of Natural History. Here I saw the largest of 
the cervus genus, called the moose. It was mounted in 
the museum. Its height above the shoulders feet, 
and its weight 1,000 pounds. Its horns had fallen ofiC 
before it was killed. Twenty-five, it is said, were killed 
in the country north of Whitestown last winter at differ- 
ent times. This one belonged to a herd of five." 
I have refrained from quoting what the distinguished 
author said about tlie fish of the lakes and rivers tribu- 
tary to the canal, for Mr. Cheney has presented the mat- 
ter fully. But in regard to the "blossoming" of the lakes 
I find, in the handwriting of some former owner of the 
book, notes commenting on Clinton's contention that the 
phenomenon was due to the exuvia or ova of insects. The 
first note says: "The effect is too great for the cavise. 
From closely examining this substance, I am of opinion 
that it arises from the flowers of eel grass {Zostera tnari- 
ana), -which flowers in July to August, and I have seen 
lakes blossom only where this grass grew." Again, when 
the writer of the letters refers to the "blossom" as of ani- 
mal origin, the writer of the notes (who I fancy was an 
engineer on the canal), says: "I cannot forego the ob- 
ser^'ation that the lake blossom is attributable to aquatic 
vegetables, in part to its flowering, and partly and more 
especially, to its decay. I have never seen it except in 
hays where the Zostera mariana grows. I subjected it 
to alkaline tests and from yellow produced a green color. 
There are on the Oneida Lake insects which perch on 
the surface of the water. Their quantity is immense, but 
they appear to deposit their ova on small bushes from 
the edge of the lake half a mile inland. I have noticed 
their slimy deposits, and seen them in various stages of 
growth. They move from the land to the lake in masses, 
toward evening, and so numerous as to intercept the rays 
of the Sim. This continues maybe ten days, and their 
death sometimes occasions great stench." 
Edmond Richmond. 
R0CHE6TEH, N. Y. 
Where the Loon Laughs* 
In Three Parts— Part Three. 
Three luxurious and happy days are spent in camp 
before the expedition moves on. Then everything is 
packed away, the dunnage bags laid in the canoes, and 
a start is made. Just below the camp they pass the 
entrance of Lost Channel, and a mile or two farther 
down come to the entrance of North Channel, closed by 
a boom. They slip around the end of the boom without 
any difficulty, and proceed. North Channel is a series 
of little rapids and falls, every one of which requires a 
portage of fifty yards or less. To the Sick Thing it is 
an interesting experience to observe how close to these 
rapids and falls Kitchener will guide the canoe without 
apparent danger of being sucked in. It is simply a mat- 
ter of making use of the back water and keeping close 
to the shore. Then, when a clear view is obtainable, the 
Sick Thing lays hold of a rock and Kitchener stands up 
to inspect — the other canoes waiting for orders. By noon 
the last of the rapids is passed and the entrance to Six 
Mile Lake is observable in the distance. It has been a 
hard and quick morning's work, and everyone is hot 
and tired. Clothes are off in an instant and all four men 
plunge into the tail of the rapids. Then comes a luncheon 
of hardtack, stick chocolate and raisins— a delightful 
feast to ravenous men. After that, a quiet smoke, and 
then on again. Six Mile Lake is lashing itself into fury 
under a stiff breeze, and the heavily loaded canoes take 
in a good deal of water. But the open water is passed 
over safely, nevertheless, and camp for the night is made 
on an island which promises good shelter from the com- 
ing storm. By the time the tent is up and the fire started, 
the rain is coming down in torrents. How Kitchener 
accomplishes it the others do not rightly know, but 
while thev lie comfortably in the tent, he actually pre- 
pares and serves a big pot of delicious soup, a pot of 
refreshing tea, and what goes by the name of a rice 
pudding. By the time this is disposed of, the rain has 
ceased, and nothing is left of the storm but an occasional 
flash of lightning and the grumbling of distant thunder. 
In the twilight, a loon passes close overhead, his wings 
making a loud whistling; and a moment later a_ stately 
crane goes by. The fire is flooded out by the rain long 
since, and the fuel lying about is too sodden to make 
another. There can be no cheery camp fire for this night. 
Btit presently the moon comes up, shining weirdly 
through driving clouds and lighting fitfully the black 
water and blacker headlands. Then, away in the dis- 
tance, comes the voice of the loon. For reasons of his 
own. 'probably, the strange wild creature is not laughing 
to-night, but instead, indulges in an undertoned whimper 
broken at intervals by an unearthly shriek. 
"Boys!" says Kitchener, solemnly; "there's the agony 
and despair of twenty centuries in that creature — and let 
me tell you why. The soul of Judas Iscariot, the man 
who betrayed his Friend for money, dwells in him." 
Nobody makes any rejoinder, "The thought sinks in 
and becomes part of the gloom and the silence of the 
night. Until they creep at last into their blankets, the 
four voyageurs remain in melancholy reverie. 
Next day, the sadness of the preceding night all for- 
gotten, they go forward again. At the end of Six Mile 
Lake they pass through a narrow channel into Crooked . 
Lake, at the extreme northern limit of which they find 
an abandoned lumber camp. According to the map, 
there should be a portage here, but so far as the eye 
can discern there is no possible way through the tangled 
growth of forest and underbrush which fringes the shore. 
Kitchener lands and plunges into the bush. In fifteen 
or twenty minutes he returns. 
"I have found it," he says; "but it's the most dubious 
looking trail I ever saw — hard to find and harder to 
hold to. However, it's all there is." 
As they are taking the bags out of the canoes a big, 
straight, keen-eyed young man, carrying a Winchester 
over his shoulders and holding it by barrel and stock 
with both hands, comes out of the bush and approaches 
them. It appears from the little he saj-s that he is a 
French- Canadian farmer from Go Home Bay, about 
twelve miles to the southeast. He grows a little garden 
truck, owns a cow and a horse, raises a few hogs and 
chickens and hunts for game the year round. "All the 
year round?" "Mais non! — honly w'en she was allow 
it by de law." This with a quiet smile. "Yes ; that is the 
portage — dam bad portage, certainlee!" 
The beginning of the portage is a plunge into the bush 
and then the faint outline of a trail. Then a broken and 
rotten bridge of logs that Would be hazardous enough 
to cross empty handed. Then a long flight through an 
almost tropical growth, climbing over dead trees and 
plunging unexpectedly into sodden spots of morass where 
the foot sinks to the ankle — a short portage after all — 
only about two hundred yards, but an exceedingly bad 
one, and ending by the margin of a little stream choked 
with weed and bullrush. Following this a few yards 
down, open water is reached, but apparently landlocked. 
"There isn't any outlet from this," the Sick Thing 
announces. 
"Do you .see that tangled mass of swamp weed straight 
ahead?" Kitchener a.sks. 
"Yes; but you don't surely imagine that to be a chan- 
nel! It is evidently impenetrable." 
"The reeds bend in that direction. What movement 
there is in the water is through there. Let's try it." 
The Sick Thing laughs derisively. For once Kitchen- 
er's woodcraft is at fault. But they drive the canoe in 
and pull themselves along by the help of the sturdy bul- 
rushes. In five minutes they have won through, and 
there before them stretches open water. It was the chan- 
nel after all, and the Sick Thing hastens to apologize. 
At the head of this water an ancient dam is found. Then 
follows a portage,' commencing over steep rocks,, contin- 
uing through a ravine choked with dead timber, and then 
on over a fairly good trail — about one hundred and fifty 
3'ards in all. At the end of it, the canoes are slipped into 
a little stream perhaps five yards wide. A dozen yards 
down this a big dead tree blocks the way, and too close 
to the water to allow the canoes to pass under. The 
bags are lifted out and laid atop of the tree and the 
canoes passed over, a ticklish operation. Then, five 
yards further along, a submerged tree blocks the chan- 
nel, too high in the water to allow the canoes to pass 
over and too heavy to be sunk by any available means. 
Fortunately it is covered with slime, and by dint of 
coaxing, lifting, shoving and wriggling, the canoes are 
at last got over it. Five hundred yards further, the open 
water of McRae's Lake is found. At the northern 
extremity of this, a dam with an open flume is reached. 
The canoes slide through the flume without having to 
be unloaded, the men stepping dryshod over the rocks 
alongside. The four voyageurs are now in Georgian 
Bay. Camp is made at the first convenient spot on the 
mainland, and a hearty supper and ten hours of un- 
broken sleep follow. A seven pound pike for brealcfast, 
parboiled for twenty minutes and then fried with bacon 
and seasoned with pepper and salt and a dash of curry, 
and the expedition, moves forward once more. It passes 
the deserted lumber mill village of Muskoka Mills, stop- 
ping a moment to leave letters to be forwarded by the 
next steamer, and then on to find good camping ground 
for the night. This is found to be not only good, but 
really delightful, and a whole day is spent in luxurious 
idleness. There are socks to be darned, shirts to be 
washed, buttons to be sewed on, and a world of social 
happy talk to fill in the time, with the smell of the birch 
log from the camp fire at night and the glory of the 
heavens to gaze upon. 
As the course from this on is likely to be somewhat 
puzzling. Kitchener submits the Government map of 
Georgian Bay to the first native he meets. 
"We think up here," says the native, "that the survey 
must have been made in the Government offices in 
Toronto. The map is worse than useless. You would 
do well to put it away and ask your course from point 
to point as you go along. I know every inch of the coast 
from here to the entrance to Moon River, myself. I'll 
draw it on the blade of a paddle, if you like; but I warn 
you that even that won't, be sufficient. There are big 
bays you are certain to go into, if you are not careful, 
and they'll cost you anywhere from three to twelve miles 
of paddling. Stop at every house you come to and ask. 
That's the only way to do it. The first you'll come to is 
Jimmy Darling's, on Aberdeen Island, and the next is 
Loudon's, on High Rock. Those are two points that 
will see you safely over part of your journey. But for 
heaven's sake look out for the bays!" 
He makes a rapid, free hand drawing on the paddle, 
and leaves them. They go straight to Darling's Island 
through a sheltered channel, and from there see the open 
water of Georgian Ba}', white-capped and threatening. 
A call at Darling's house results only in an interview 
with a. servant, who seems profoundly ignorant of the 
geography of the country. However, sjie is quite swre 
